Yuri, My Lover
by HanakoAnimeaddict
Summary: Francis didn't find this spot until Gilbert landed in the hospital.  Now, he wished for an excuse to visit his British friend.


The roses were beautiful, but the male on the other side caught his attention more than the blood-red flowers did. He saw that the other was tending to it, and couldn't help but feel as if he might be able to fall in love with the man.

When he turned to face him, irritated it seemed, he noticed the eyebrows of all things. The eyebrows were huge, taking up a lot more room on his face than what was expected of eyebrows. Usually, he'd notice the eyes, or the mouth, but the eyebrows demanded his attention.

"What do you want?" He assumed that the worker was British based on his accent, but he couldn't be sure.

"This flower," he replied easily, pointing to the day lilies. He knew what it meant—he had to search for it since he often flirted by giving flowers—so he wasn't all that shocked when the worked blushed and started to stutter.

"But—but—"

"I was only kidding, _mon cher_. I would like the Lily of the Valley." His friend, Gilbert Beilschmidt, somehow landed himself in a hospital—he said it was the "asshole's" fault, but he somewhat doubted it.

He found himself smiling, laughing with Gil when he kept mentioning the awesome things they did the before he found himself in this "shitty room." Then Antonio, their mutual friend, entered the room, causing them to be too loud. He and 'Tonio got themselves kicked out of the hospital.

The days passed, and Gilbert soon was released from the hospital. At first, he was relieved, as his friend would now be able to join him and Antonio for their nightly drinking (and flirting), but then he came to the conclusion that he wouldn't be able to annoy Arthur anymore.

The loss of a friend, even if they weren't the best of friends, was enough to darken his mood. That night, he wasn't as attentive to the females as he would have been, and he didn't talk to the others as much as he would have. By the end of the night, his friends were worried that Francis had gotten sick.

It was difficult, but he managed to convince Arthur that his friend was still in the hospital. He managed to convey his "nostalgia" for his friend's memories (ones that will "go away with him".)

"_Mon cher_," he would often say, and more often than not, Arthur will blush and call him a "bloody wanker". He would always smile and give a suave reply.

This day, however, he was suddenly patted on the shoulder as if it were a comforting gesture—the movement felt awkward, though. He could feel Arthur's discomfort, and he knew that Arthur was not one to act sympathetically.

He was surprised by this gesture, but he also loved that the other would attempt to comfort him, even if his comfort wasn't needed.

Often, if not always, he'd feel a bit guilty for making Arthur think that he was mourning for his friend's indeterminate death, but he'd feel even worse if he were to be without Arthur for a day. He knew that Arthur was a drug, something that he simply couldn't live without.

Sometimes, he'd wonder if he was losing his mind, if he had nothing left of his sanity. His sanity was questionable, he'd agree, but he believed that he retained enough to not have to depend on someone.

The days turned to weeks, and he one day asked the question that was on the tip of his tongue, sometimes so unbearable that he felt that he had to ask, other times feeling as though he should just bite his tongue and keep from speaking the question.

"Will you go out with me?" he asked, thinking of the activities they could do during the night. He wanted to take him to his bed, and let Fate control what happened—whether they would do unspeakable things that others didn't need to know about, or if they would speak to each other 'til the morning, telling stories about one another.

"I—I… yes, I will." He can't describe the emotions that he feels when Arthur accepts his proposal, that he'd be willing to risk a night with him (especially since he called him a pervert and other things that he doesn't feel like repeating.)

That night, when they were both in bed, he reveals his secret, that Gilbert was out of the hospital (and was out long ago). Then, Arthur, shocking him even further, reveals that he knew—he knew for a while now.

Francis couldn't find it in himself to feel ashamed or humiliated about this discovery. Instead, he felt awed by his observation, and he somewhat felt proud that he might have a partner who wouldn't fall for his lies.

He couldn't remember feeling this satisfied with a relationship.

* * *

><p>At first, the days were bearable, and he could spend a week away from Arthur, knowing that he loved him. But soon, he had to be near the other at least once a day, and he hated the feeling. He felt needy—it felt like he depended on Arthur, like he was somehow part of the objects he needed for his survival.<p>

Francis didn't know when the lines completely dissolved. When they started to date, both were careful to keep things hidden, things that they rather not mention as they had not completely gotten over it. It must've gradually happened, as they slowly revealed their past to one another.

He learned from Arthur that he had an average childhood—his brothers and him often fought, in the spirit of sibling rivalry—but his brothers still hated him even when they were adults; he hadn't heard from them ever since.

He learned that Arthur had a best friend, someone who said that they'd be there for him, and vice versa, but the same friend then betrayed him just a year before Francis had met him.

Francis told him that he didn't like this country, England, that he was only here because of school. He told him about his distant father, told him that he'd often hear his father with a random whore during the night. ("That explains a lot," Arthur said when he heard that.)

He told him that he only stayed afterwards because his best friends, Gilbert Beilschmidt and Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, were living here, and he'd feel lonely without them. He never mentioned that Arthur also influenced his choice, never told him that it was because of him that he decided to stay.

He could have easily left, could have easily decided that France was a better place, and that he'd come back and visit once in a while to see his friends. He didn't mention that Antonio and Gilbert were already planning a trip to France before he convinced them that they should go for a week (in the romance country).

He knew Arthur knew what he didn't mention—he could see it in his eyes, and he could see it in the way he hesitated, almost afraid to speak. He didn't let Arthur do any more than that, and silenced him with his lips.

He spent that night memorizing his lover's body, memorizing all his erogenous zones. He would always mutter (or scream) "I love you" whenever Arthur allowed him to talk. He would listen to his lover gasp out, moan—all those lovely sounds that told him that Arthur loved this as much as he loved it.

As always, it ended abruptly.

* * *

><p>It was something he found unusual—Arthur was silent during the American's Independence Day. He wondered what that was about. Francis tried to pry for information, but Arthur wouldn't open up. Once, he caught a glimpse of the true depression Arthur felt—he was wrapped up in thick, fluffy blankets, and he could hear him softly crying.<p>

He didn't pry, as it wasn't about him—he hoped. But… his birthday was coming up (not that he told Arthur), and maybe Arthur found out somehow. Maybe he didn't truly love him, and maybe it was something that didn't have anything to do with him.

It was on his birthday that he confronted his lover about his behavior. And, shockingly, Arthur revealed everything—he talked about Alfred, the best friend, and said that they had a horrible fight on July fourth. He said that it revolved around the revolutionary war, and that they haven't been on speaking terms ever since.

Francis often found himself wishing to help his lover out with that problem. But on the other hand, he found that it was better that way—who knows if he'd met Arthur if the two had been friends (Arthur had originally created the flower shop to forget about Alfred… and he highly doubts they would've met had it not been for those flowers.)

He found himself a rival when he bumped into an American—he can tell by the hamburger in his hand. The male had such striking blue eyes, similar to his own, but even more bright, and tanned skin. He immediately assumes that this was the "best friend" that Arthur had mentioned often during his stories.

"May I help you?" he asked with an unnecessary edge in his voice. He felt a bit ashamed for his inexcusable attitude (especially because he didn't even know the other person), but not able to be totally ashamed by it.

"Do you know where Arthur is?" The American asked, turning towards the house again.

"I believe he's in that house," he replied, pointing towards the same house the American was looking at. He couldn't repress the jealousy that was eating at him, and he couldn't help but feel as though this was a bad omen.

"Thanks," the American called over his shoulder, running to the house at full speed.

Francis turned, and walked away—to the garden that was created for the both of them in the back of Arthur's flower shop. The lilies first greeted him—the Day Lilies seemed to reach towards him with their orange petals. He soon found himself sitting in the field next to the roses—both red and white to represent their love.

The memory of that day is forever etched into his mind.

_Arthur, being the stubborn, shy man he is, flushed when Francis shows up to his flower shop (after closing hours, of course) with red and white roses. He, as well as Arthur, knew what the flowers symbolized. They both knew that the flowers—together—represented something different than what they would if they were separate (he couldn't be called pure.)_

_That day, Francis proposed the idea of creating a garden, and the two spent some time working on it (and sometimes making out). _

_Before they knew it, the garden was created, and it looked like it was something beautiful, not something that was just a waste of space. _

"FROG!" He heard Arthur cry out angrily. At first, he was confused—he thought he wanted to make up with the American—but then he caught Arthur's facial expression. It had a mixture of irritation, and… he believed it to be hurt.

"What is it," he asked, seemingly disinterested. In truth, he wanted to know what happened between him and who he presumes to be Alfred.

"Why?" He thought that's what Arthur had said, but he couldn't be sure, as the words were muffled by his knees—his love was curled into a ball, lying right next to him.

"What do you mean, _mon amour_?"

"Why did you tell him where I was?" Arthur was glaring at him.

"Who?" He had to play innocent for not only he feared for his life, but he also had a feeling that asking would give a name to the unknown person (though his sinking suspicion seemed more and more likely…)

"Alfred! DID YOU KNOW HE CAME TO CONFESS HIS LOVE TO ME?" Arthur cried out, obviously distressed for reasons Francis couldn't decipher.

"I thought this is what you wanted, _mon cheri_." He said, still using terms of endearment (even if he felt as though something went wrong, or right, with Alfred.)

"I… I sent him away," Arthur whispered. "I told him that I didn't feel the same—"

Francis didn't believe that, as he saw him often fretting about Alfred (except during July fourth).

"—and he asked if it had anything to do with you. I didn't reply, and he seemed to take it as a confirmation. He said that he'd be back, and that he'd be waiting for me to outgrow you."

The fear that he managed to squash now came back with a vengeance. If Arthur left him… it would be difficult to go back to his former lifestyle—not impossible, as there were always willing whores, but it would hurt.

"I don't want to leave you," Arthur continued. "I don't want to outgrow you… and…" Arthur didn't continue, but Francis knew what he was going to say.

"_Je t'aime_, Arthur." He whispered for the first time in his native language.

"_Moi aussi, je t'aime_."

* * *

><p>I DO NOT OWN HETALIA!<p>

And sue me, this is the first time I attempted FrUK. Written for the what_the_fruk October Lovefest. You can find this one easily. *sighs* Now... the notes.

Notes:

Yuri-Japanese word for Lily (which was also used in France's Marukaite Chikyuu.) I decided that a Lily would be best used... because France sang about it.  
><em>Mon cher<em>-My dear in French  
><em>Mon amour<em>-My love in French  
><em>Mon cheri<em>-My dearie in French (yes, there's a difference according to a translator)  
><em>Je t'aime<em>-I love you in French  
><em>Moi aussi, je t'aime<em>-I love you, too in French

All translations for translation sites, and if France is OOC, well it's because I don't like his "normal" characterization.


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